


November Dressed As May

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adultery, F/M, Minor Character Death, Rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 16:07:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16790251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness
Summary: Hermione is captured by Bellatrix Lestrange at the Weasley wedding, along with fellow Gryffindor's Charlie Weasley and Katie Bell and some of Fleur's friends from Beauxbaton.She is greeted by some rather frisky foliage, sending a signal to the house and to one occupant in particular. This sparks immediate doubt in the Dark Lord's head and once he see's her his conflict is resolved. He just needs hard proof. That is where a rare, antiquated potion comes into affect - the Imbrium Quasi Cruentis - a potion that can prove without doubt where your roots truly lay.When Hermione finds out she understands the game has changed but can she work the inside out. Like an insidious canker? After all, she has a specific area in her own suite that are meant to guard deep dark secrets. How does this help the cause?She has several problems to overcome at first.The first is that she owns her own personal elf. The second she gets the come on from most Death Eaters. The third that she is developing feelings for Lucius Malfoy AND Rodolphus Lestrange but her main problem is Fenrir Greyback who refuses to take no for an answer!





	November Dressed As May

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant for a fest but the plot dissolved so far down from the prompt that it is now a new story in its own right.

** Colour of Blood **

They were like ice! Her captors fingers were, as they wrapped around bare forearms, it was like the woman who held her in such harsh manner was the epitome of her house. Somehow the witch’s touch was freezing her own blood, shivering even through the late August sweltering heat. The main reason the wedding was held outdoors was because of how the hot day bled into a warm night. Wincing and cursing herself, it seemed Hermione had thought of every possibility bar one, what to do if one was caught. She should have allowed Harry control of the bag. Oh she hoped they were sensible; and Ron would strategize emergency plan b. Tears flowed freely out the corner of her eyes, blurring the chaotic mess occurring in front of her as tables, chairs even people were trampling to get out, food squelched in the grass – the wedding cake which took poor Molly, hours to bake and decorate literally a crumbled ruin on the table with the mini Bill and Fleur hugging each other tightly as the real couple tried to protect Charles from being taken by a group of Death Eaters. Screams filled the air as the crowd made messy exits – mothers yelling for their children, husbands for their wives.

Yet she refused to make any sound as pincer sharp nails cinched into her arms, breaking her flesh causing crimson blood to ooze out of her pale skin, trickling ruby rivulets slowly dripping down to pool in the crook of her elbows. The witch cackled as she saw her fingers covered in blood. Hermione would know that sound anywhere. Bellatrix Lestrange. Mortification and fear swept through Hermione’s soul. She’d be lucky to even be alive at the end of the night if all rumours about _her_ were true.

Hermione was supposed to have gone with Ron and Harry at the first sign of trouble, but Ron had caught the wrong hand in the melee – the prat had thought Luna Lovegood’s hand and hers were the same weight, in his confusion. Horror took control of Hermione’s panic as she witnessed the moment that the beautiful fey girl had gone with her boys as Ron Apparated, with Harry on one hand and Luna on the other. Harry had yet to take his lessons, and Luna should have been preparing for hers in the coming year. All three would be lost and confused as she had the beaded bag full of supplies, Harry and Luna now had to put their trust in Ron as he was the only one who had a licence.

The hunt was on Ron’s back now and Hermione had to place full trust in him, Her sorrow etched deeply in the corner of her eyes as she watched Charlie, Bill and Fleur lose the battle, and now the dragon keeper had been trussed up like a Christmas turkey by three Death Eaters. There was little time for a pity-party as she was reminded of her own bad luck by a sharp yank via her hair, pulling Hermione out of her funk. Head throbbing as her captor’s hands deliberately trapped in her bushy hair, the screeching cackling added to her extreme discomfort. _Hecate, she’s actually behaving like the stereotypical witch from the 17 th century Muggle perspective,_ Hermione thought. The vile eldritch sound chilled her to her marrow as Bellatrix decided it was fun to taunt and cackle in a high-pitched child-like manner, in her ear as the hag wound more locks of hair around her wrist cruelly pulling taut and sudden at her victims scalp.

By this point Hermione could barely put up a fight as Bellatrix dragged her out of the tent – the only other prisoners besides her seemed to be Charlie, who could not escape the clutches of a silent Death Eater, a few Beauxbaton witches that were being leered over, and Katie Bell who was kicking and screaming in a manner Hermione felt too listless to. Wrists tied behind their backs and ropes around their knees, they hovered along by their personal captor Death Eater’s magic.

The White Witch, as Hermione had nicknamed her, had pushed her gruffly along. Sharply tugging viciously on Hermione’s hair. The crazy woman was chatting nine to the dozen as if she and Hermione were attending a party and had to be nice for the hostess sake.

“Not much of a wedding to crash,” she muttered. “Blood Traitors and the dirt poisoning our systems. Even my niece and her half- _breed_ husband – then what do you expect when a parent is so practically _muggle_ they end up in Hufflepuff – treat our world like a…a…theme park for their own amusement. Expect _us_ to hand them sweets and candy and they do nothing. Absolutely idiotic – not a wedding at all – just a glorified barbecue!”

The incessant chatter was fine, Hermione decided, anything to stop the mad bitch from actually talking to _her_. Except it did not last long. For once they apparated with their prisoners in tow, the witch almost pierced Hermione’s skin. Why was she touching her? Could she not just do with her what the others did to their own prisoners?

When they wound up outside a huge looking Manor, Hermione could not help but be awestruck by the sight. Sucking her breath over her teeth she pulled in her lower lip as her golden gaze took in the sight of the house against the summer sunset. Elizabethan Tudor but, squinting her eyes she could just about make out that a ‘small’ portion of the ancestral seat that could still comfortably house all the Weasley family, contained stones and mullioned windows from an older building possibly originating from the 13TH Century. In other circumstances she’d be thrilled to examine the history and magic surrounding every rose thorn, pebble, and glass pane of the acres of grandeur she was gazing at. Yet she unequivocally knew the only part she’d be inspecting dutifully, in any detail, would be the dungeon cell she’d be trapped in.

Still, she sighed, she could not help but marvel over how ancient the magic was that thrummed from the ground into her heart – not necessarily dark, but dangerously strong and rather sensual. This discovery made her almost purr deeply within her soul. The unmistakable gasp slipped through her lips as an ivy leaf seemed to sinuously lick its way up her leg. The tendrils creeping up her inner thigh made her bite her mouth. The witch holding her watched in some vague amusement when a protruding movement within soon announced itself under her red skirt. Now, the mischievous plant was coiling around her thighs, she even yipped as it deliberately slipped under her panty-line, a strange feeling succumbed her as the ivy tasted her and the stalk quivered. Everyone had stopped at the gates to watch one of their prisoners being molested. The witch holding her seemed to be invested in this. However, Hermione remained as poised and delicate as she could be. Any other reaction would be just stupid. Wherever she was it did not bode well for her due to who it was that caught her.

“Sinful is it not?” her captor whispered in her ear, “affects only witches – this was not the original choice of residence until one of the ancestor’s charmed by that fluff Elizabeth the First, simply turned his head. He tried to invite her to pass through it, but she was unimpressed by the small size of the house. It was at her refusal that the same man swore off red heads for life. Little did he know that would mean enmity with a family close to your heart,” then the chatty crone stepped aside; Hermione was still being sexually toyed with by a plant, what was the term in Herbology that some wizards… Ah yes, Dendrophilia. Some witches and wizards could bond too closely to their plants.

Then Charlie woke up and began violently twisting his body in his bonds sweating through the ropes as they cut into his strong skin. Bellatrix giggled then flicked the tip of her tongue on her top lip and languidly ran it down her lips as she ran the tip of her wand down his body to end it at the zip of his trousers whilst he was struggling in his bonds. Froth oozed out of the corners of his mouth, the anger in his bulging eyes was unmistakably aimed at the cruel harridan above him. The prisoner’s cheeks reddened from the effort of trying to shout through a gag towards Hermione – probably hoping she’d make it out to do whatever it was she had to do.

“I would not bother blood traitor,” she giggled, to divert his attention back to her. “Oh my, you’re a big boy aren’t you?” Bella walked around the hovering and incandescent wizard, dancing her fingers on his penis. “I wonder if you have got into my prisoner’s knickers yet? No, you have not, oh this is too delightful,” the witch hopped up to Hermione and took her arm and leaned in, purring in Hermione’s ear as if parting a girly secret to her best friend and said in a tone everyone could hear. “He does you know, he desperately _yearns_ to be inside you – do not worry, Mr Weasley, you may yet have your turn if our Master is satisfied and she stays alive from the course of torture that she is bound to go through, I may pop her in the same cell, so you can comfort her, we’ll see, won’t we.”

By the time they had reached the vestibule, Narcissa had the door open wide for the returning Death Eaters. Hermione lowered her head as she was pushed through by Mrs Malfoy’s sister.

“One is supposed to keep the filth out, Bella, not bring it in.”

Oh how Hermione burned to kill the blonde witch for that statement. Just that moment in time Draco had walked down the stairs to see what all the noise was about and was shocked when he clapped eyes on the person held in his fierce aunt’s grip. If she was ashamed before, she certainly was humiliated when Draco spoke.

“Mother, what’s going on?”

“Go back to your room, darling, this does not concern you.”

_Of course it doesn’t_ , her inner voice sneered. _Can’t exactly upset Little Lord Fauntleroy now can we?_

“I am no longer a child,” Draco hissed back in return. “What’s a Weasley _and_ a Granger doing here.” 

It was then Bellatrix jumped up and down with glee shoving Hermione roughly aside as she clapped and danced chuckling as she did so when she reached her nephew: “Spoils of war, dear Nephew,” she purred stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers, “our first prisoners – we have lowered the morale of our enemies with the capture of their friends and brother. We should win – for look; we have Potter’s brains. Without her he can’t tie his shoe laces, so you said.”

“Enough, Bellatrix,” a voice from the shadows sneered.

Hermione stiffened at the voice that had done nothing but destroy every ounce of effort she put in. How could this be happening?

“My Lord,” Bella simpered as she sauntered up to him, sashaying her hips in a grotesque form of sexuality that turned Draco’s complexion to an interesting shade of magenta. Hermione however looked on at the most disgusting display of P.D.A she’d ever witnessed. The witch was lovingly reaching out towards the Snake Man as if he was a god. “Here, my Lord, we have gained someone of dubious note.”

“So I see,” he murmured so quietly Hermione strained to hear him. “A Dragon Tamer, some eye-candy, a nobody and a reader. What should I do with the Weasley and the Granger, Draco, what do you suggest?”

“Dungeons, my Lord,” he managed to eke out of his mouth before lowering his head to the ground. “Punish them later?”

“I was asking out of courtesy since your father has become nothing more than a silent drone nowadays. Not the wizard he once was, you are to atone for his mistakes, with that in mind Draco, do you have a better idea which one holds more value?”

The silence stretched on as Draco tried to appear to mull things over without committing, Hermione could see his appraising eyes as he took her in from tip to toe and back again, before swapping his gaze towards a now upright Charlie Weasley, eyes blazing through his copper fringe.

“Which one do I take for a further interrogation, Mr Malfoy?”

For a moment Hermione thought the Dark Lord was growing impatient with Draco, however it was with a mere glimpse through her lashes that proved her wrong. Everyone suddenly turned their gaze to look upon Lucius Malfoy – looking like an unwelcome guest in his own home, Hermione was shocked at the usually elegantly attired man in this nasty state of déshabillé – he held onto the tumbler of fire whiskey like it was his life support, his usually clean shaved visage was scruffy and unkempt. The wizard barely looked as if he was standing up by himself, leaning heavily on the door frame, his empty gaze circumvented his hallway – they landed on Charlie with barely any interest, but a small spark of life flew to his gaze as the argent eyes lingered on Hermione.

“Miss Granger holds more worth to Potter I believe. This boy though clearly a Weasley is not one he is particularly close to as far as I am aware. If my esteemed sister in law had taken Miss Weasley however, I am sure it would be Miss Granger gracing our cells tonight.”

“That is decided,” the Dark Lord smirked, his dark eyes gleamed like rubies encrusted in lava. “Take the boy down to the cells. Miss Granger, may I have an audience alone if you please.” 

“My Lord…” 

“Bella, if she is the brains of Potter as you claim, then I must see how clever she is. We do not want a repeat of Alice Longbottom, now do we?” 

The witch sulked rather childishly, her arms folded, lower lip jutting forward and kicking her heels against the wainscoting on the wall. Percolating in her own peevishness, she did not strike Hermione as one who had been taught how to hold oneself properly, she behaved like Ron did when his mother told him to wash dishes by hand. The picture was almost enough to brighten her up. 

_How can I live through this_ , Hermione thought as she followed the man leading her into Godric knew where, in the Manor house of her school bully and his _loving_ family, _what am I supposed to do now?_

“Shut the door behind you, Travers – Jugson,” he ordered her two guards. Suddenly she was without protection, in front of the scariest wizard to walk the earth. “Drink?” he asked her tilting his head to the side. Remaining on the safe side of caution she shook her head. “No, that is a shame, best whiskey in the world and I should know.”

“I am not much of a drinker, sir,” she whispered huskily. Shivering Hermione moved her arms around her body, hugging herself, a feeble effort of protecting herself, she knew. He seemed to roll his eyes and walked up to her with a clean empty glass and the crystal decanter containing another colour liquid. “Why do you wish for me to be on er…” 

“Your own?” he tilted his head. “I can be a reasonable fellow – if I was the unfeeling tyrant you have been led to believe why would I have chosen you?”

“Because you think me worth something to Potter,” she said.

“No, my sweet little witch,” he smiled as he poured some of the mesmerizing, shimmering silver liquid into the twinkling glass. “Drink, it’s beautiful.”

Against her better judgement Hermione took the glass he offered and watched as he poured the liquid into her glass. She shivered again and took her drink close to her chest. The Dark Lord stepped behind her, she felt a hand touching the small of her back as he maneuvered her towards the mahogany desk. Displayed on there was empty parchment and a quill. Gulping, she recalled the blood quill Umbridge had her and others like her, use for writing lines. In a masquerade of manners, he pulled the chair out, seated her and gently pushed it in – not a single drop of fluid splashed out of her glass.

“What have you given me, sir?” she asked. 

“This is a little known potion, Miss Granger, but I assure you it is safe. Indeed, so safe I shall demonstrate for you, if my motives you distrust,” he said urbanely taking the decanter allowing a tiny sip pass his lips. “There see,” he smiled. “Now you try.”

Deciding not to be too ungracious she lifted the glass to her mouth and tilted it between her lips. A simple sip. She gazed upon the Dark Lord. What was he waiting for? The witch smiled slowly as she felt heat reach her fingers and toes. Then she felt content enough to drink the rest down. The glass slipped from her hands, falling from her lap, clunked and rolled onto the floor with a disappointing sense of the anti-climax as it did not smash. 

“What did…” her eyes rolled in the back of her head before falling forward. 

“Now let’s see the colour of your blood, Miss Granger,” he smirked as he took hold of her wrist in her supine state. Taking his wand he slit her wrist open in a clean swipe, her blood fell on the parchment beneath her arm. “Vulnera Sanentur,” he sang healing the cut once the parchment was drenched in crimson.

He hitched his robes as he perched on the edge of the desk whilst her head rested on his lap. Mumbling to herself as she reposed he watched the blood form her family tree. Oh this was intriguing, he glimmered as the colour of her blood dried.

The twigs were decidedly Black. 

** Part Two **

Alphard, you naughty little Wizard you, he sighed as he sipped his whiskey caressing her hair away from her face. Allowing her drool to drip on his robe, She was like him now. If it was not for that damn… hang on, the prophecy – born as the seventh month dies, she had a parent who defied him three times, this could so easily have meant her if Dumbledore had been aware of her birth. For September was once the Seventh month of the year.

No, he was not though, how could he when it took the _Imbrium Quasi Cruentis_ or _Familiae Sanguis_ potion, a recipe known to only those of pureblood. An ancient concoction that every pure family worth their salt knew to deter imposters and bastards from inheriting the family fortune in a less advanced age. Hell, even muggle families paid for the privilege to know if their fortunes were safe.

Even the witch was unaware – he should have known there was something different, not quite right about her. So, he sipped his drink once more, contemplating on his predicament. How should one break such life-changing news?

First of all he had to wake her up. Carefully he shifted her around so that he could move her to a sofa. Hermione was far too much like a Black not to be one now he came to look at her. 

Once he had arranged her neatly on the leather recliner against the back wall of the study he walked out and found Bella still kicking her heels against the wall, causing Lucius to wince with every hit and scuff mark she must be creating. The witch had no propriety or respect for other people’s property. 

“Mrs Malfoy, I must need your attention now,” he beckoned her closer. Narcissa swept along holding her sweeping powder blue skirts coquettishly with her hand as she did so. “Bellatrix do stop acting like a child. If you do not wish to behave like the Lady Cygnus and Druella raised you to be, then you can go out in the gardens and de-gnome the grounds.”

“That’s servants work!” Bella exclaimed.

"You _are_ my servant, Bella, you will do what I wish you to do and obey me!”

“Yes my Lord,” she muttered as she ungraciously stomped through the hallway swinging her arms – grabbing a masked Death Eater as she went.

When Narcissa entered the room she first saw the jar of _Familiae Sanguis_ potion looked emptier than when it was last used, The girl was at peaceful slumber on the sofa. 

“Did you just feed the girl the only potion we can keep onto as a legacy, my Lord?” Narcissa asked. “what were your motives?” 

“I have been having doubts, Mrs Malfoy, you see – it did not make sense. Your ivy seduced her, did you know that? Many mudbloods have been walked past these gates but not one ivy leaf showed interest, yet this one sought her out before they entered the grounds. Not just that but she has her father’s eyes and tint her hair darker and where does that put her looks wise.” 

“Her father’s eyes but…” 

“Look at the tree,” he smirked extending his long arm towards the parchment whilst he lifted Hermione’s head and sat down to rest it tenderly on his lap. “Walburga had no jurisdiction to blast anyone off of the family tree. Especially her brother.” 

“Aunt Wal…” 

“Was a vindictive cow, Mrs Malfoy, for me to use _that_ word says something. His only crime was helping another family member… if she had exercised more restraint Young Sirius Black would not have been so interested in running away.” 

“This means that…” 

“Interesting is it not,” he smirked. 

“What are we to do, my Lord?” 

“We cannot let Bellatrix know just yet,” 

“Why not, my Lord?” 

The Dark Lord tenderly fondled more of the young sleeping witch’s hair before glancing up at the Lady standing tall and confident at the desk once held by her father-in-law. She was moving her head up his thigh, sighing and chuckling at the same time that he curled his skeletal fingers around her upper arms ignoring the worried apprehensive shimmer in Narcissa’s eyes as they were studying their captive-turned-family member. 

Lazily Hermione stretched, yawned and turned around so her face was now in line with the Dark Lord’s navel. The gentle whisper was somewhat destroyed by the squeak of the leather with the violent jerk of her hips. The girl turned on her back. Now she was going to awaken and with sharp clarity, so he shifted her head back on the curled armrest. Once he had straightened his body up, he turned around to face Narcissa. 

“You shall break the news to her. Explain you fed her the potion because you had always been curious – I do not wish to be seen by her until she is calm and collected. In the meantime I have a Blood Traitor to see to.” 

“My Lord,” she curtsied, her demeanour a practised art form in itself. “Where is she to convalesce?”

“She is your cousin surely you can find it in yourself to give her a guest suite.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

After he left Hermione had woken wild eyed and startled, sitting up immediately as if she had been burned, she gazed with erratic eyes around the room she was in, eventually zoning in on the graceful woman in front of her: “What happened?”

Narcissa sighed, this was going to be harsh to the young woman sitting there, the young witch was already doubtful of her and she seemed about to clamber up the walls in search of way out as it was. Deferring to her upbringing Narcissa smiled as she walked up to her, gracefully sinking down on the sofa beside her.

“I am sure you are wondering why you are unharmed?”

“No, I am sure I was at my friend’s brother’s wedding. What am I doing in this… where exactly am I?” she groaned catching her throbbing forehead in her hands to massage her temples groaning as she tried to work the pain out of her system. “I feel like a troll and a hippogriff have had a wild drunken party in my head.”

“Do you remember being taken?”

Suddenly Hermione’s head lolled on the back of sofa as the dreadful evening passed through her mind in a blur of images where certain colours and shapes were more distinct than others. A shape of a dark green leaf, unruly black curly hair, crimson of blood but in eyes slit like a serpents, and then a shimmer of silver. Drinking down the fluid and now on this luxurious sofa next to a witch she’d barely swapped three words with.

“Yes, yes I do. Chaos. Wedding. Fingernails in my skin. All of it, and…” she clapped a hand on her mouth. “Oh my goddesses, the Dark Lord!”

“What do you remember about the Dark Lord?”

“Private audience in a room like this and a silver drink. Floral at first then blood, so much blood!”

“The Dark Lord meant no harm,” Narcissa smiled as she placed a listless hand on top of Hermione’s that now rested clasped on her lap. “He called me in here to ask me to hand you a potion generally called Familiae Sanguis.”

“Family blood?”

“Indeed, otherwise known as _Imbrium Quasi Cruentis_ ,” Narcissa’s tone was gentle and kind. A stark difference to how she had approached Harry in Diagon Alley over a year ago. “You see, somehow you do pass for family in certain features. The hair and eyes – also you have been known to exact the temperament on occasion.” 

“What are you saying?” she scowled turning to look in Draco’s mothers eyes. 

“Are you aware of what the Imbrium Quasi Cruentis does, Miss Granger?” 

“No, it is not a potion I have heard of I must admit,” she whispered hating to admit that there were things she still had to learn. 

“It increases the blood flow and reveals its history. Where you come from. It is an archaic potion, used before other means were available when people used ignorance as a weapon often claiming to be someone’s son or brother just for the purpose of extorting money from them. Or a witch claiming a child is the Lord of the estate – even wealthy muggles purchased the brew to avoid being made a fool of.”

“So, how does it er, work?”

“Once a parchment is charmed with a Revelio, the potion infused blood mixes with the charm revealing ones whole family tree as far back as it can.”

“It won’t do you any good!” Hermione cried standing up. “I’ve taken steps – I do not know where my parents are, so you won’t ever find them – I won’t have anyone hurt my mum and dad!”

The scowl, now Narcissa could observe close up, was rather similar to Bellatrix’s. That only confirmed what the Tree had told them. Slowly rising from her seat Narcissa kept her gaze on the fretting witch before her. Her cousin!

“Now dear, you spent time with my knave of a cousin did you not?”

“Yes, why?”

“Did he never say anything to you about…”

“No, he was more concerned with Harry. We spoke alone but not of anything important. The books sometimes caused the odd row or two. He wanted to get rid of everything, but I said destroying literature was just as bad for history as trying to erase it entirely from a human mind. I also took him to task for how he treated Kreacher. I may not like the surly blighter, but he is still a sentient magical being with his own mind, thoughts and dreams.” 

“He did not think you and he had any semblance.” 

“No, why?” 

Narcissa gestured with her hand towards the parchment on the desk – a huge parchment that held a family tree with her name scrawled on top. What? This could not be, could it? With each passing name she read she blanched more until she was the colour of snow, her hands turning bone white as they clutched tightly onto the edge of the desk. A slight sway alerted Narcissa to the sign of a faint and rushed quickly to her side holding her close to her body. 

“This has to be wrong, my parents are dentists, muggles. I am a…” 

“You are not though,” Narcissa pressed her lips against Hermione’s temples brushing her wild hair with her fingers. “You are a Black. We are cousins. Alphard was not blasted off the tree because…”

“He was blasted because he fell in love with my mum who was,” a quivering forefinger traced along the line across from Alphard’s, dotted to indicate out of wedlock but still all the same… “Vindemiatrix Adhafera Black, daughter of Alphard Phineas Black and…” she lifted the tips of her fingers of her other hand to her tremulous lips, “Octavia Helen Crouch.” Turning around so quickly Hermione felt light headed she practically demanded: “Who is Octavia Crouch?” 

Narcissa lowered her eyes sadly: “A squib of the Crouch family, Barty Jr’s sister to be precise – Alphard must have fallen for her and you are the result.” 

“Your sister was blasted off the tree for marrying a Muggleborn – does that mean that I…” 

As they were talking Hermione glanced down and watched Octavia Crouch’s name change to Helena Felicity Pritchard. Helplessly, Narcissa stood by her new-found cousin as the young woman watched her whole life dissolve into a lie.

“How – why – but - I – what does this mean?”

“It means you are Barty Crouch Sr’s granddaughter and my cousin, and this is your name. It means vine-harvesteress and curly-hair. Quite pretty actually.”

“That is quite ironic considering my – well I suppose – adopted father’s mother’s maiden name meant curly hair but it was Greek – Katsaros.”

“There you are Cissy!” a handsome wizard walked in. Loped in, rather and Hermione’s jaw physically dropped at the sight of him. Tall, noble brow, dark curly hair that waved down to his shoulders and sea-green eyes that seemed to spark some form of mischief in the centre. “I take it this is the girl that my so-called esteemed sister-in-law dragged in.”

“What is it you desire, Rabastan?” 

The witch gulped and seemed to hide behind Narcissa feeling threatened by the wizard’s naughty gleam. 

“The Dark Lord wishes for all of us to congregate in the Grand Dining Hall – he asked for you to bring our guest in – there is an announcement he wishes to make.” 

Gulping when the man’s back was turned Hermione clung onto dear life on her new found cousin’s arm. Stepping shakily forward slowly to stop herself from crumbling at the knees. Without knowing how she found herself supported the other side by Rabastan, she managed to catch a glimpse of his profile, So sharp and staccato but a hint of softness in the rounding of his jaw and the flow of his hair.

Once in the Grand Dining Hall Narcissa and Rabastan had managed to straighten her up. The Dark Lord stood: “Ah, our grand guest of honour approaches.” 

“That is the Mudblood I dragged from that awful tasteless wedding, my Lord,” Bellatrix groused. 

“Are you quite well, my dear?” he asked as he sat Hermione down on a chair between him and, she turned, Professor Snape. Never had she wished to sink through a floor than she did right now as several pairs of unfriendly eyes laid onto her. “She took quite a turn when I offered her the Imbrium Quasi Cruentis potion. It increased her blood flow just a little too much.” 

At this statement, Hermione glanced down as she saw two potion bottles in her hand that weren’t there before. Confused, she furrowed her brow as she slipped furtive glances at Professor Snape. Without reading the label she knew that one was a blood replenishing potion, the other she had to ascertain the usual way.

“Who did she _claim_ to be, my Lord?” Bella asked her eyes glaring at the girl in what she felt was her position.

“No one, I am sure she was shocked as you will be in the next few moments when Narcissa reveals the mystery – Mrs Malfoy, if you please.”

Rapt attention was what the Malfoy Matriarch commanded and that was what she got. Hermione could tell the blond witch was taking a moment to gather the facts inside her head before she stated the ecumenical facts. 

“Everyone knows it takes the head of the family to blast names of a tree, so for Aunt Walburga to do so was to emancipate Uncle Orion and Grandpa Pollux. Whilst Walburga liked to claim she’d had Orion and Grandpa’s blessing – she, in fact, did not. The only person who actually had any say in who to exorcise the family tree it would be Uncle Alphard Black.” This news was met by an agreeable rumble throughout the room. “As Aunt Walburga was a forceful person she overtook decisions that was not her place to take. The story told now as it was when we were younger, is that Uncle Alphard was blast off with the blessing of all his family. That actually was not the case. Uncle Alphard had concocted a plan with Uncle Orion to override Aunt Walburga by giving our errant cousin Sirius his share of the Black family fortune from his own pocket – what Uncle Alphard had not expected in the meantime was to meet a squib. Octavia Crouch to be exact,” loud jeers and whistles, cups banging and feet too an erratic angry beat met that piece of news. “It seems that they connected well enough to provide another Black, born out of wedlock because Alphard had perished before she was born. Octavia was disguised as a muggle and married a muggle man named Alexander Granger – they have since left the country with no forwarding address. Yes,” she held her hand flat heel up fingers pointing at the ceiling to silence the growling noise of discontent. “Hermione Granger was a solid figment of our imaginations. She was seriously lied to all her life. Due to the Imbrium Quasi Cruentis potion it was revealed that Uncle Alphard had procured a daughter with Octavia – I am sure you can all join in the grand reunion of Bellatrix, me and Vindemiatrix Adhafera Black – Take your glasses, pick them up high and join us in our toast,” she had done so whilst talking and lifted her tumbler high over her head, “to Cousins!”

“COUSINS!” dozens of voices droned.

The only ones not happy by this development was Draco who glared at her as if her lying was a personal insult to him, Professor Snape whose intense eyes seemed to have not left her profile, Hermi – Vindemiatrix was uncertain if there was not going to be a hole there. Then there was Peter Pettigrew who glared at her from his snivelling posture at the Dark Lord’s lap.

A giant snake slithered close to the girl, Peter was waiting eagerly for the vile snake to scare her. The blasted serpent flickered her forked tongue in and out tasting the air surrounding the nervous looking chit. Instead of lunging forward to pretend bite Nagini seemed to nod and pushed past her to her master.

“Nagini, what is it? Really, that is interesting. Yes, yes, it can come in.”

To everyone else the strong hissing was uncomfortable, except to Bella who found it entirely too sensual for a public place which contained her nephew, and herself, who had grown with it due to Harry.

“Everything well, my Lord?” Bellatrix asked. 

“No, but it appears a large ginger feline is pacing outside the Manor’s gates yowling. Nagini informs me that the furry creature belongs to Miss Crouch-Black – a Crookshanks.” 

Normally this was inducement for punishment, but he heard Peter’s simpering whimper. Vastly amused by the traitor’s cowering at his feet the Dark Lord turned his head, the ugly pale colourless fat wizard was suddenly slick with sweat. There was a story here and The Dark Lord could not wait for it to be told. Incidentally, Snape matched the Dark Lord’s cruel smirk for one even sharper in vengeful spirit. Fathomless eyes suddenly held a gleam of amusement in the centre. For the first time, Hermione noticed the limbal circle separating the pupil from the iris. How unusual it was to have dark red light naturally in his gaze. She wondered what it would be like to be the object of fascination of those eyes in the volcanic heat of passion. Shaking her head she turned her head back to Peter, who was glaring hatefully at her.

“Nagini has informed me that she will escort Miss Crouch-Black’s familiar through, I am somewhat intrigued why a normal house pet even muggles have can strike such fear in one of my followers.” 

“Can I tell the story, sir?” Hermione asked a sudden spike of spite thrust through her emotional cortex, infusing her with the desire to lay the tale whole. 

“Of course,” the Dark Lord smiled as he tilted her chin up to make sure her sole focus was on him. “This is turning out to be quite a night, is it not, dear?” 

Keeping all bets close to her chest all she did was nod solemnly. It was indeed. Moments later Crookshanks was soon in Malfoy Manor, the moment his eyes landed on his mistress he bounded up to her and leapt enthusiastically onto her lap, purring as the tip of his fluffy tail flicked from side to side – eyeing the men in the room with intention to maim if they so much as brushed their fingers in the same air around his mistress. 

“This is the fearsome beast that you had ran from after a major life or death tussle to find me, Pettigrew?” the moment the Dark Lord mentioned his name the cat let out a low, rumbling displeased growl. “My but he does hate you, does he not? A feline with some taste.” 

Once the compliment was paid the animal curled in his mistress’ arms, purring contentedly. Only the gathering assembled could make out the slit of his eyes with an orange light protracting out of them, the entire meaning clear: he was there to protect his mistress. No one could come near her, he’d scratch out the eyes of any person so much as approaching her without his consent. 

“A true familiar,” the Dark Lord stated. “No harm is to come upon this cat – he is a real familiar. Loyal and protective of whom he considers worthy of his protection.” 

“I would like the test to be taken again,” declared Bellatrix. “I refuse to believe she is my cousin unless true proof is displayed before my own gaze.”

“The truth revealed itself in front of my own eyes, Bellatrix, do you have the audacity to distrust me who was there? Or, perhaps, it is Severus’ skills as a potioneer you find your mistrust in? Maybe you doubt the veracity of your own sister?" 

Bella gulped as she shrank further in her seat: “No, my Lord, it is just curious that she exists at all considering Uncle Alphard was not the most vivacious of men.”

“Ah, but your uncle was still just a man, Bellatrix.”

“Yes, my Lord. If you say it is so, then I accept.” 

“Now that is sorted, the meeting is over. Narcissa and Bellatrix needs to welcome their new cousin. Lucius and Rodolphus may also be exempt from the rest of the nights plans.”

Hermione watched as everyone trooped out of the room except the four that had been told to remain. When she was on her own standing in a strange quincunx of people, the dot in the middle, not knowing whether she was going to be smothered in curses or blessings did her panic return. The only certainty was the ginger mass of fur in her arms.

“I still am in disbelief,” Bellatrix snarled. “However, if you have partaken of the _Imbrium Quasi Cruentis_ – which is a potion that allows no forgery, I shall shake you by the hand. Your mother is still in question, but I warn you, I killed Sirius – blood may be thicker than water but in my case – first and foremost I am my Lord’s Lieutenant. If you so much as begin to display qualities those favoured by our brash irresponsible cousin I shall not think twice in ending your miserable little life, understand?”

“Completely,” Hermione managed to reply.

Satisfied she’d said her piece Bellatrix walked out of the room making her desire known that she did not wish to be further involved in this false charade. Her politics were above any other responsibility. 

“I must apologise for my wife,” Rodolphus stepped forward. Never had Hermione seen such a gorgeous pair of eyes. Rabastan could take her breath away but Rodolphus seemed to be sucking the heart out of her with his presence. His shoulder length hair was cut around the nape of his neck, but the long curly locks hung down over his face. An inky stormy sea emphasising his grey eyes and high cheekbones. She could see the resemblance the brothers held but Rodolphus bearing caused her knees to tremble. It was only the fact that he lifted her hand to his lips was she able to retain some sanity. “She is the type to be jealous of her own child if she was warm enough to produce one,” 

“Thank you, Mr Lestrange,” she breathed heavily. 

“Please, we are family,” he smiled. “Rodolphus will be sufficient – Roddy will be better for when we are more familiar with each other.” 

“Thank you cousin Rodolphus.” 

“I will take my leave; my younger brother may need to be held back from pursuing any young witch he sees.” 

Hermione giggled then she was turned around by Lucius: “Mr Malfoy.” 

“As Roddy said, we are family. You have the right to call me Lucius.” 

“Lucius,” she whispered lowering her eyes and hugging her cat tighter against her body. 

“I am sorry my dear,” he murmured. “We cannot re-write the past. Please, do accept my apologies.” 

“Do you mean that?” she hissed narrowing her eyes. “If you truly mean that and you want to show it then you must make Charlie’s, the Beauxbaton students and Katie Bells stay here comfortable. I am not unreasonable to expect pure clemency, but it could be considered recompense for how you ruined his sister’s life.” 

“It shall be done, should you desire also to keep in communication with the Weasley family, you may.” 

Then Hermione turned her attention towards Narcissa: “Please, help my friends if you can, I know this may be an impossible ask but I observed Draco closely last year and he looks worse – now we are somewhat related I definitely do not wish for him to be further encased in darkness. I do hope you are re-considering your values." 

“You are taking this with remarkable élan,” Narcissa replied.

“My parents were always honest with me as far as they were comfortable with – my mum told me when I got my Hogwarts letter that she was a squib – explaining how I might be facing torment due to my muggle name… I was upset then to find out that the man I loved as my father was not my father at all, was scared that he’d hate me, it turned out that he knew he was not my father at all but still loved me as his own. I am shocked though to find out Sirius was my cousin.” 

“Delicacy and grace,” Lucius smirked, he wondered if she knew that as a Black it was now her duty to marry either Draco or Rabastan. “Attractive traits in any woman.” 

The fact that his comment elicited a delightful blush on her cheeks pleased him greatly. Beside him, his wife rolled her eyes and shook her head at how incorrigibly flirtatious her husband was.

“So, you are using this new information to work from the inside.”

“Oh yes, consider me like an insidious canker.”

“You were wrongly housed,” Lucius smiled as he offered her his arm. “You should have been a Ravenclaw.”

“I was considered for Ravenclaw,” she answered stoutly.

“One feels you should have been placed there.”

“Can I make a request that everyone calls me either Miss Black or Mia? Vindemiatrix is such a mouthful!” 

“Of course, Mia, it is beautiful. Now, Narcissa shall escort you to your rooms. I shall see you in the morning.” 

“Before I go, can I visit Charlie, he needs to be made aware of the situation,” 

“Tomorrow morning, dear, you need to rest. I fear he may not be in any condition to talk.” 

Glumly Hermione nodded as she wondered if that is where Bellatrix had disappeared too after her non-welcoming welcome speech. She watched as Lucius trotted off down to where the dungeons were she assumed. What a really bizarre day, she surmised, a wedding and a brand new identity. 

Feeling somewhat lighter now she knew who she really was, she was chagrined when the thought of Sirius came to the forefront of her mind. Smiling, she allowed her imagination to take over as she stood there to tell him that they were cousins, that she was Alphard’s daughter, that he now should respect her and behave. 

“I take it you are dreaming of our late cousin’s possible reaction?” Narcissa asked as they walked up the sweeping, fairy tale staircase, the east and west wings were avoided as Narcissa placed her wand on a mahogany panel that slid open revealing a secret south wing. “This wing is where the family resides. Those who has their wands registered in a book in the library can enter here. We shall do that tomorrow. I can assure you Bellatrix does not repose in this area of the Manor, neither does the Dark Lord. This is for the Malfoys and chosen close associates,” Hermione smirked as she replaced the last two words with one: Lovers! “I have one rule here and that is to knock on the doors with name plaques on – Every room here comprises of: a sitting room with bookshelves, a writing desk situated at windows charmed to hide you from the view of others but not to conceal the view from you, a musical instrument of your choice – I see you as a pianist, so we may order one for you, and a dining table for private friends you may wish to court over. A balcony with another set of chairs, again charmed to hide you from others but not others from yourself, a luxury bathroom, a room for clothing and shoes complete with dressing table for your various make ups, perfume bottles, jewellery etc – then that should lead into your emperor sized bedroom with your own king size bed, a window seat to rest when unwell but do not wish to leave your chambers, A wall of bookshelves, a guardian painting of a past family member to warn us in case somehow an intruder has made their way through, and another little area to entertain in case you wish to have secrets divulged and kept. Floo Powder pots are refilled constantly in all three fireplaces your suite contains. Any questions?”

Bewildered Hermione glanced up at Narcissa who had stopped at a curly white door-frame wide enough to contain two doors both with dark silver handles and an emerald embedded in each. 

“Anywhere off limits?” she asked remembering the cartoon Beauty and the Beast. 

“No but do remain cautious. Bellatrix may be my sister and for that I do love her, but I somehow find I wish for nothing to happen to you. You actually remind me of Andromeda when she was your age. I would use that to your advantage if a man presses his suit against you forcefully.” 

“I will remain careful, M – Narcissa,” Hermione trembled. “Are you sure that all secrets can be kept in my rooms?” 

“Yes – the dangerous ones in the bedroom, why?” 

Working her lower lip between her teeth Hermione affected a casual air as she shrugged her shoulders: “No reason, thank you.” 

“Once more I warn you to be alert and wary,” 

With that Narcissa left Hermione standing outside her new bedchamber. Already a silver plaque with green elegant writing had declared the room as hers – except, rather than seeing Hermione written in the flowery romantic style, the name Vindemiatrix Adhafera Crouch-Black appeared in gold and silver sparkles etching the script deep within the rounded nameplate. With a heavy sigh Hermione placed her hands on the round silver emerald studded handles – the doors seemed to sigh as she opened them.

Even though she should have been prepared to expect stateliness by Narcissa’s speech – the shock of how grand her rooms were hit her the same way a pile of bricks would… 

“Welcome home, mistress,” said a house-elf. “I was your father’s elf before he died. Glad to be having Missy Mia back so I am!” 

Overcome by the events of the day Hermione collapsed in a dark faint!


End file.
